


It's the Small Things That Matter

by UraniumFever



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Drabble, Gay Night Clubs, M/M, Post-Robert Good Ending, Recovery, Robert saves the day, Second Person, a touch of angst, attempted non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UraniumFever/pseuds/UraniumFever
Summary: A series of drabbles I want to work on.  I loved the Dream Daddy game (especially Robert, obviously) and the challenge that comes with writing second-person.  These will all take place Post-Good Ending Robert, I hope you enjoy them and my attempt at a new writing style.





	1. We're Going to Die Young

We’re Going to Die Young

It’s 10:00 PM and your head is telling you to turn in for the night - that’s the problem with age, the older you get the more vocal your body becomes. You think back to college, when 10:00 PM was dinner and 11:00 inadvertently led to a pre-game. 

As you reminisce young-adult life, Amanda comes to mind. Your baby girl is out in the world, likely making just as many terrible decisions as you did freshman year. She’s got a good head on her, though, you at least ensured that. 

A long sigh leaves your lips as you contemplate turning on the TV or giving in. There’s gotta be some type of movie on. Scrolling through the channels you find Die Hard. Would this be the fiftieth time you’ll be watching it? Yes. Does it bother you? No fucking shit lady, does it sound like I’m ordering pizza?

It seems like you’ve caught the movie in a commercial transition which means it’s prime beer-fetching time. That commercial with Adam Levine and his skincare products plays in the background as you grab a nice cold cider from the fridge. Is it a fruity drink? Yes. Again, you don’t care because screw gender expectations and all that.

Your couch is the comfiest thing you own and you love sinking into it with a beer in one hand and the remote in another. Nothing can beat a relaxing Saturday night like this.

John McClane’s face is suddenly on the screen and you’re reminded of the day you had your sexual awakening. Bruce Willis crawling through air ducts, gun in hand, in his sweaty tank that magically changes colors throughout the film… it’s making you excited just thinking about it. 

You’re coming into the movie at a strange time, you’re at the part where he gives his first, “Yippiee ki-yay, motherfucker.” It’s almost embarrassing how much you love this movie, you were a young teenager when you saw it first. You mouth the words with John McClane as he cocks his machine gun. Why is he so hot?

All dads have that one movie they will watch on repeat for the rest of their life. Amanda, of course, knows this and teases you every time she catches you sneaking this movie in. 

“C’mon pops, we own this on DVD why are you watching it on cable?” 

Her complaints are valid and she did buy you the collector’s edition four Father’s Days ago… but there’s something special about catching it on TV. Or you’re just addicted to Bruce Wills’ abs. Who knows? The last time you watched the movie was a few months ago, at Robert’s house.

You take a sip of your beer as you start thinking about a topic you try to forbid in your head: Robert. Now you’re wondering how he’s doing, what he’s been up to… if he still has a thing for you and you remember why you banned him from your musings. There’s no way to think about him, even the casual-friendly encounters, without feeling hurt. You know he’s working on things, and he does need to sort his life out on his own - but you’d be damned if it wasn’t the cruelest joke life was playing on you.

The TV brings you back and you quote another line as John McClane exchanges witty banter with his new cop buddy. The night you and Robert watched it together he made fun of you every time he caught you mimicking the scenes. He would mock repeat every line you copied in a sarcastic voice. Both you and he were holding back smiles the entire time, trying to remain stoic and serious even though you wanted nothing more than to break.

And now you’re sad again; knowing he needs his distance. You notice your beer is almost empty. When were you even drinking it? John McClane is now manhandling a terrorist and you can’t help but picturing Robert doing the same. He nearly did to those kids that night at the movie theater. He should totally be John McClane for Halloween, you could buy him one of those toy guns and distress an old wife-beater. 

No. Stop thinking of him. It’s just you and Die Hard tonight and that’s fine, you’re a grown man who doesn’t need someone else. Shit. Empty nest syndrome is real though. You snuggle deeper into your blanket and fix your pillow to create the ultimate bed.

That’s when your phone pings.

At this point you’re too snuggled up to care but your dad instincts kick in for a moment and you have to check to make sure it’s not Amanda who needs help. It’s not. Strangely enough it’s Mary and that alone is all you need to open it.

Mary: Wyd tonight?

You think for a moment about whether to be honest or cool. Then you remember Mary can smell lies a mile away and is terrifying when she catches you and you opt to tell the truth.

You: Watching Die Hard… trying not to die too hard tonight though.

Hah. You’re quite funny aren’t you? It takes her a moment to reply and you notice she starts typing and quits a few times.

Mary: Let’s go dancing. Pillowbiters?

The only memory you have of that nightclub is wasting twenty dollars on a drink and puking it up by the parking lot three hours later. You’re kinda down regardless.

You: I’m down… I’ll be over in fifteen?

Mary: Make it ten, Joseph is pissing me off.

You: On it.

Who would have thought the night would prove fruitful? You head to your room and search high and low for some appropriate clothing. Unfortunately, you had finally parted with some of your college wear some time ago - not that it’d likely even fit now anyways. As you gather potential pieces you throw them on the bed. Cropped shit? Buttoned shit? Tight pants? Short shorts?

It all stares back at you as you try your best to match the club’s vibe. You opt for a cropped shirt with your distressed jeans, hoping in the end it’s an acceptable look. As you’re about to head out you catch yourself in the mirror and do one last mental check. The goal tonight is to entertain Mary, you remind yourself, coming across something (or someone) would just be a bonus. In your experience it’s not good to get your hopes up.

You turn off the lights in the living room and give Bruce Willis one last look before kissing him goodbye, “Give Hans a good fight, McClane!”

Mary’s is a short walk and you’re proud to say you’re a good one minute early. Before you can even knock, the door opens and she brushes past you in a wave of perfume. She takes your hand and drags you to the car, “I need to get drunk and I need to dance.”

“A good combination,” you nod.

It’s hard to tell in the dark but you know Mary is decked out, she’s wearing a thick choker with large hoop earrings. As you pass streetlights you’re able to make out the tight black dress, you think it’s made an appearance to a night on the town before.

She stops at a red light and turns to you, “I like the crop top… showing off that treasure trail, huh?”

You grin, “Well hopefully we come across some explorers tonight.”

At that she snorts, “That’s awful, even for you,” we’re silent a bit longer in the car, “I’m sorry… I promise to be more lively when I get a drink in me.”

“Should I ask what happened?”

She rolls her eyes, “He’s just being his typical self. So let’s get me loaded with liquor and you loaded with dick.”  
“Yikes,” that paints quite the mental picture, “Not sure if I need that much dick, I am on a diet you know.”

That gets her smiling again, “That’s gross.”

You settle into the seat, preparing yourself for a late night, but at least you’ll be with a friend and not depressing the neighborhood with loneliness. That gets you wondering, “No one else was free?”

“I can’t just invite my friend out?” She starts looking for a spot in the parking garage, “To be honest you were the only one I knew would be up and doing nothing,” you cast her a look and she cracks again, “Sorry but it’s the truth… besides Robert wasn’t answering my calls.”

“Glad I’m in my forties and still being used as a booty call. I’ve come far in life.”

She locks the car and you start walking to the club. There’s quite a few gay nightclubs in the city and they all have their advantages and disadvantages. You’re trying to remember what Pillowbiters had in store and you remember as you walk in.

This was the mix - people on both ends of the age spectrum. A bunch of young men dance in the center as the older men ogle from the sides. It’s a wild competition of out-dancing the person next to you in hopes of being given a free drink. You think you’re too old for it by now but the thought still excites you.

As much as Amanda begs to differ, your dancing isn’t that terrible, well, not in this setting at least. Mary has already left your side for the bar and you wait a moment to take in the scene before you. Your type isn’t too particular but you do tend to prefer stronger men. A drink is being put into your hand by Mary who seems very intent on getting to the center of the floor.

You follow and take small sips of the iced drink. If it was meant to be mixed with anything the proportions are off, all you taste is pure vodka. 

“We can do wells at midnight, they’re a dollar then,” she’s shouting over the music but you nod as if you hear her clear as day.

The DJ throws on a new track and you recognize the throwback: Jenny From the Block.

Multiple people cheer in approval and you and Mary exchange a look, ready to throw it back. She sways side to side, moving her hips like a girl half her age. You laugh and take another sip of the extremely strong drink, matching her rhythm. The people around you join in and even the younger guys are mouthing the words.

The man in the DJ booth seems to notice he’s picked a winner and he decides to stick with the trend; playing more gay anthems. Everyone looks to be smiling and dancing and you’ll be damned if you’re not feeling that third drink. Mary’s on her sixth and amazingly hasn’t had to pay for any of them. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be getting the free drinks?

“Hey,” you turn and see a younger man with glasses dancing closer to you, “How are you?”

He’s a little young, couldn’t be older than thirty, but you’re just dancing so you think why the hell not and dance a little closer to him, “Were you even alive when this song came out?”

“Oh really,” he smirks as he leans in, “and how old were you then for Diana Ross?”

He’s caught you, “Alright, alright, I was only ten.”

“You can’t tell…”

You hope you’re not blushing, but it’s nice being thought of as young. He takes your hand suddenly and twirls you. Again, you try not to get your hopes up; he probably just wants a drink. Ugh, why does it feel so good to be touched and admired. 

I Will Survive suddenly comes on and your dance partner immediately gets pulled back into his group of friends to live out the song. You feel slighted but Mary swings you back, mouthing all the words as only a drunken Mary can. One of the dancers comes down from the stage and into the crowd, lip-syncing the words. It drives the crowd wild.

A little too wild because you’re suddenly a little sick to your stomach. Wait. You put the drink down from your hand at the bar, trying to figure out if it’s your fifth. Now you really can’t remember and you’re darting for the bathroom hoping not to repeat your last experience here but not taking any chances.

The bathrooms in these places are always disgusting but you don’t want to risk it. A couple is making out the corner (and possibly doing a little more than that) but it doesn’t phase you as you run for the stall. You groan as you look at the puddle on the ground in front of the toilet; a grand mix of bile, glitter and liquor. Not today and not on your nice jeans - if anything comes out you’re doing it standing.

You feel an urge to lean forward and hurl but all you do is cough, hoping the feeling will pass you remain in that position. A promise you’ve been making to yourself for years now comes back to mind: I’m never drinking again.

“That’s one fine ass,” you feel a hand on your body… lower on your body.

A gasp escapes your mouth but not before another fit of coughing. The hand makes its way across your back and you can feel him reaching to wrap his arms around your exposed waist. Maybe the crop top was a bad choice. He pulls you back at an angle, into his crotch, and you want to hurl at the motion.

“H-hey,” you wish it sounded more threatening but the coughing took away the weight to your voice.

“Come here, daddy’s going to take care of you,” his grip is strong, much stronger than you’d like and he forces you to turn around and look at him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well,” you try to escape his hold but he pushes further into the stall, closing the door behind him.

Now your heart is really racing and you’re seeing all the warning signs you looked out for when you were younger. You think about yelling but you’re sure no one will be able to hear you with the loud music in the main room. His mouth is on you and you’ve never wanted anything less.

You try again to break away, “Please you’re hurting me, let me go!”

This time he doesn’t even acknowledge the comment as he forces your lips together. His tongue is sweet and bitter at the same time as it violates your mouth. You twist, hoping he’ll just get bored and walk away, but he doesn’t and now you’re panicking. 

“Stop!” Your face is warm now with emotions swimming together, “Please, stop!”

He grunts as his hand grips the back of your neck, forcing you down towards his crotch, “Jeez, just shut up and get the job done. Don’t show off the goods if you’re not going to back it up.”

You’re shaking as he undoes his zipper. With one final push your knees are now in the puddle on the ground, but you don’t even have time to think about that as the man’s cock is pressing your lips. In your drunken haze you don’t know what to do and part of you is just willing to submit and get it over with.

Not a moment too soon, your mouth is freed and you cough, wiping away tears and trying to collect yourself. You see commotion but you don’t have the energy to look up and watch. There must be an exchange of fists as you know you can hear shoving and grunts.

“When someone says stop, you stop!”

Wait. Was that Robert’s voice?

You look up and see the man in the flesh, Robert, knife in hand pointed at the man who had just been violating you. He turns just a moment and his eyes widen as they catch yours. And for a moment you both share every emotion in just a look.

He immediately turns to the man, this time inspired by a wave of anger, “How fucking dare you touch him!”

“E-excuse,” the man is staring at the knife before him but Robert cuts him off again.

“I swear to god if you say one more word I will not hesitate to end you.”

The words are so chilling, and you know Robert is the type of man to mean them. Would he kill someone for you? Why is he here? The questions swirl and you can’t help, through everything that’s happened, not see the man before you as the man you love.

One final jut of his pointed knife and your violator is gone, he’s practically running. Robert turns to you as quickly as he can and meets you on the ground, searching your eyes for… you’re not sure what but it’s intense. His hand reaches your shoulder, again you’re not sure what he intends to do but all you know is that you want nothing more than to collapse into him. You grab around him without hesitation and far too desperately. 

You’re not sure if it’s the fear or alcohol guiding you (maybe it’s a mixture of both) but you need this contact, something to hold onto. He presses into you and lets you collect yourself. Your nose is turned into his hair as you try to hold back rushed sobs, you breathe in his scent: the leather, the liquor… Robert.

“Shh,” he rubs the back of your head so much gentler than you ever thought he was capable of.

And you feel like you’re melting as he tries to calm you down, his embrace so strong and tight. It just feels right.

“Robert,” another voice moves towards us and is accompanied by a man in his thirties, “is everything ok-” he stops when he sees you two, “Oh.”

He pulls back and you feel rejected. It hurts. Why does it always hurt with Robert? You and him look into each other’s eyes and it’s like the most ridiculous contest as you try to outstare the other, “This is Micah.”

It’s the alcohol talking, that’s what you tell yourself, that forces you to push him away and stand up. You are not going to get jealous, you are not going to let this hurt you.

Robert stands to follow you, “Hey, wait…”

“Thanks for the help,” it helps your confidence a little bit to take the higher road and see him struggle with that. Inside, though, it’s like his knife cut through you instead.

Before you give him another second to speak, and you know he’s ready to, you’re leaving the bathroom full of emotions and ready to break down from everything that had just happened.

“Who was that?”

It’s all you hear before the door shuts. You want to listen in and here his explanation but you can’t give him more time than that. Before you’re even back to the bar, because of course you need another drink now, Mary is at your side.

“Where the hell did you go?” She shakes her head, annoyed, “I’ve been look--” she pauses, observing your face. You feel like you’ll breakdown crying at any second, “What happened?”

You try to smile. Please don’t cry, please don’t cry, you keep repeating this to yourself. You’re too old for these types of feelings, you think, “Well I almost threw up, then someone wanted to have sex with me and then Robert threatened him.”

“Robert?”

“And then,” and now the tears are there, right in time for Ke$ha’s gay anthem to drown out his voice, “then his other friend came over to investigate,” you think you’re hiccuping because the words are too hard to get out, “because he’s with another guy and Mary… I don’t know why,” it feels like something is tearing inside of you, “why he doesn’t love me.”

She takes a deep breath, walking you as far from the music as she can, “He does love you.”

You shake your head, now full out crying into her arms like the drunken mess you are, “I’ve done everything right!”

“Yes,” she shrugs, “you honestly have… you’ve been the best almost-boyfriend ever and he’s being a dick. He’s figuring things out so he can be with you.”

“Then why is he with someone else now?”

She moves to your side with no response, almost to shield you as Robert walks over, “Let’s ask him.”

You want to protest this but as you see him move closer you want nothing more than an explanation. He’s looking at you, and only you. His dark eyes, glean in the flashing lights and you find yourself staring at his lips of all things.

“Hey--”

“Don’t hey him,” Mary folds her arms, you notice a sway to her stance and know she has to be just as drunk as you, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Let me talk,” he tries to motion for her to leave but she stays put. You really hope this doesn’t throw off the whole friend group. He resigns to Mary’s position with a sigh, “Listen… I just finished explaining to Micah what happened. Are you okay?”

You shake your head, you’re not ready to have this conversation in a crowded nightclub, “I just want to go home.”

Mary nods, “Alright, I’m all danced out anyways.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Robert steps forward, “both of you… you’re too drunk to drive home.”

You cast a look at Mary and she laughs, “You’re the sober one?”

“I’ve been sober for a month now,” he stares down at his shoe and you almost don’t believe the words he’s just shared, “ever since I told you I was going to clean up my act I’ve been trying to act on it.”

You try to move past Mary, to leave, to confront Robert, you just don’t know what you’re doing anymore, “Ah,” you trip over your own feet and both of your friends move to catch you.

“Come on,” Robert is holding you, again with his death stare bearing into you, “let’s get you home.”

It’s a quiet ride as Robert helps you and Mary into his truck. You know he likes the quiet but this seems so out of place. Mary falls onto your shoulder, sleepy eyes finally falling into a shut. A hand touches yours and instinctively you want to pull it away.

“For real,” his voice is soft, quiet, “are you okay?”

You let him rest his hand on yours but you don’t want to say anything. You don’t know if you’re okay, or how you feel. All you know is that you’re tired, from lack of sleep, from the alcohol from all of… this. He seems to accept this and it isn’t until he’s helping Mary out of his car that you even move. Everything feels as if it’s numb and all you want to do is sit there.

He climbs back into the car and sits there silently. That’s all you do together for a good twenty minutes. Oddly enough he’s the first one to respond and his voice sounds so haggard, like whatever he has been meaning to say has been stuck in there for some time, “I’m sorry for putting you through so much. Please,” he turns to face you and you debate on doing the same but you give in and look at him, “I am trying to be a better man for myself and for you.”

“The whole thing in the bathroom,” you’re trying to find the right words, luckily you’re sobering up pretty quick, “it really startled me.”

“I know,” he growls at the memory, “I was going to kill that fucker, especially after I saw what he was trying to do to you,” he pauses, and looks away, “When I saw you there on the floor… I’ve never wanted to strangle someone more.”

“If it’s any consolation prize, I’m really glad you were there.”

Robert turns back, you’re both staring again, “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been there. If I heard what happened from someone else… I never want to see you hurt.”

It’s like the hangover wants to jump on you early and you feel your head pang as you contemplate what to say next, “How much longer should I wait, Robert?”

“I want to be the best person I can,” you can hear the strain in his voice as you push him further, “Please just give me a little bit longer. It hurts me every single day that I can’t be with you.”

“Could we just start slow?” You feel like you’re begging, but you need something. All the times he ignores you for weeks, or won’t touch you when you’re at a bar as friends… it’s boiling up into some type of animosity that you’re not ready for, “Touch me, hold me, let’s cuddle on the couch and watch movies like we used to, let’s go to a bar and make fun of people or sit in the bed of your truck and watch the stars,” you feel the tears coming with the sting in your nose, “Robert I just miss you.”

He looks at you and you think your heart might break just seeing that face, you see him grit his teeth as the tears begin to fall from his face, “I know… you don’t understand how much it hurts,” he reaches over slowly to pull you in for a hug, this time it’s him digging his head into your chest, “just a little longer and I promise, I promise I will be exactly who I want to be.”

“Robert, I can help you,” you’re whispering for some reason but it feels right, like if you spoke too loudly you’d both break into pieces. 

“I know, I know,” he shakes his head, holding you tighter, “I’m so close, so close I know it.”

You can feel his arms around you, the memory of them at least, as you fall into your bed that night. His scent is still on you and you elect to leave your shirt on for that exact reason. You resolve to think everything over in the morning with a fresh head. Every inch of you hopes that Robert will stay true and that tomorrow or the day after you two will finally be together.

People don’t change overnight though, and just the reality of the situation is setting in. This relationship, as it sits now, is toxic and doing nothing but hurting the other person. You hope with a clear head you can reassess and all will be better.


	2. Side By Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A back and forth: One man's recovery and the other's downfall. 
> 
> Some writing I did to bring the background context to where these short stories I'm writing are beginning. I totally procrastinated some actual work today so enjoy to the result... might even have another short one I made up tonight. Why does Robert continue to break my heart?

Side By Side 

Robert’s words ring through your head and you can’t help but cry yourself to sleep that night as they replay in your head. But you’re happy for him, happy he can recognize the worth he holds as a person. RuPaul’s words ring true, “If you don’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love someone else?” And it seems silly, but it gives you hope. Robert needs a little bit of time and soon enough you’ll be together.

\---

He feels like he’s ruined the greatest thing to happen to him in a long time. You. The look on your face when he told you he couldn’t put you through a relationship with him when he had so much to work on - he knew he was crushing your heart and it pained him so much to do so. He cries himself to sleep that night, right into an empty bottle as he observes his hellscape of a room and comes to grips with how shitty his life is. God, he hopes you wait for him… he’d do anything for you.

\---

You try to continue going out together, for old time’s sake. Mary keeps it casual and cracks a few jokes to get you two going. It’s still good fun when you’re all together but now every time you accidentally brush up against Robert he tenses. The same happens when he catches himself staring too long, it’s like you think he’ll call it all off if he stares too long and finds something he doesn’t like. Keep positive, it’s what you keep telling yourself for now anyways.

\---

He can’t text you anymore, not without swearing at himself for trying to do the number one thing he’s avoided with you. Fuck, he wants to touch you again, kiss you, hold your hand. You were so close to being his and he messed it all up by pushing you away. He starts going full days without speaking to anyone. Mary’s texts sit. Your texts sit. When Joseph tries to send a message of concern his text especially sits. Slowly he starts to develop a pattern: wake, look in a mirror and swear, drink, nap, wake, drink, cry, sleep.

\---

No one has heard from Robert in several weeks and if that didn’t hurt enough they seem to think you’d be the one to know what he’s off too - as if you two were a real couple. It bothers you all the more to have to tell them you really don’t know since he doesn’t seem to really value telling you anything and in the end, you guess, you really weren’t that important him. It gets to the point you start to hate going out where you know your other friends will be,. Somehow the conversation will spin to Robert. So you start going out to random bars and clubs, where no one will know you and you can just be miserable by yourself.

\---

He doesn’t venture out until he’s out of dog food. He’d been running low on frozen food for a while too, but that didn’t matter as much as Betsy getting fed did. He chooses to go before the store closes, hoping to minimize the chance of any human contact. As fate would have it, he runs into Joseph of all people. The smug man looks over Robert and he’s sure he’s going to get some sarcastic comment.

“Are you okay?”

It sounds concerned but his opinion of Joseph is so low he doesn’t even give the man the benefit of the doubt, “Fuck off,” he wishes it sounded more threatening but he really didn’t have much control over his emotions anymore. He was growing numb to the world, to all of it. Soon enough, he figured, it was just going to end.

“I know you’re not going to care about my guidance on anything but --”

“I don’t, so you shouldn’t even start,” Robert moves to the check out but the fucking guy continues to follow him.

“There are programs and counseling you can go to, Robert. I’d be an awful Christian if I didn’t pass that information along to you.”

“You already are an awful Christian.”

He laughs to himself just a little knowing his comment hit a sensitive chord with Joseph. Robert leaves with ten boxes of frozen pizza, three bottles of whiskey, and a bag of dog food. That one stupid comment from Joseph leaves with him too, though.

\---

You and Mary grow closer as Robert continues to ignore you both. The two of you gossip, watch the kids and whine. She offers advice on Amanda’s college relationship drama and hearing it from a mom’s perspective is great. It gets harder and harder to go home, though. You’re starting to really feel the empty nest. No more little girl running to greet you at the door… you can’t stand walking by Amanda’s room and you try to keep the door closed, so it at least gives the impression she’s in there ignoring you. God, no one told you this would be so lonely. 

You honestly think back to what they were telling you as Amanda got ready to graduate. Wasn’t it supposed to be a great time where you could do whatever, travel the world, save money? What was going wrong? You’ve never felt so alone and forgotten in your life. It starts getting harder and harder to wake up and face the world..

\---

“My name is Robert Small… and I’m an,” he struggles to get the words out, even furrowing his brow, “I’m a shitty person.”

The fine dressed woman in the chair next to him shakes her head, “That’s not what we say. You’re not a bad person, especially not for seeking out help.”

Why is this the second hardest thing he’s done in his life? He thinks about it for a moment and the room comes to a still, waiting for him to finish, “I’m an alcoholic… and it’s ruined nearly every single one of my damned relationships. My daughter hates me, the guy,” he clenches his fists as he really struggles to get all of it out into the open, “the love of my life has to hate me by now too,”

He doesn’t get his first chip for two months.

\---

You stop making dinner for yourself, it’s hard to buy for just one person anyways. Instead you decide to stop eating in general. You still order take-out every now and again, and find something to snack on… somehow… but there really doesn’t seem to be much of a point. None of it tastes good. Amanda was a better cook, Alex was a better cook. You’re thinking of him now more than ever, of missing his hands, his smile. You are completely alone. What’s the point of anything, you figure, if no one is there to share it with you?

\---

Val is in his kitchen. His daughter is live and in the flesh, standing at the stove and she’s… she’s smiling as she stirs a soup that they’ve been cooking together, “I figured you deserved your favorite soup for two weeks sober.”

“You didn’t have to…”

She shrugs, “Kinda did. You’ve been doing good, dad,” she gestures to the bowl she’s brought him, “eat.”

He doesn’t hesitate, he loves this time with Val. He’s trying to spend as much time with her as he is with his AA partner. The two of them do nearly everything together when Val is busy. Robert always drives since his partner can’t and it’s only a town over. 

Micah and him were so similar and both the men admired the other’s resolve. So much so that he and Micah took turns reminding the other to eat, shower, exercise… it was good.

“You really do care about this guy, huh?” He told Micah about you one night after grocery shopping. 

Robert nodded, “I want to surprise him… I promised him I’d do better.”

“Dad,” Val catches his attention again, and for a moment she’s speechless as she spots a genuine smile on her dad’s lips, “I really like having these dinners with you.”

He shakes his head, at a loss for words. Val used Marylin’s recipe and it makes him emotional just thinking about it, how did she turn out alright like this? With such a bad dad like him, “God, Val… I have so much catching up I need to do with you.”

\---  
You used to think drinking was reserved to be a mostly social activity but these days, it tastes just the same when you’re by yourself. TV is getting boring, and while some days are fine and you go out and smile, there are more and more days where you just want to close the door and the blinds and sleep. At least when you’re sleeping you can sometimes dream of a happier life. One with Alex, Amanda, Robert, shit… anyone.

January 14th. You stare at the calendar and watch the snow fall outside. You’ll never forget this day. How many years later and it’s still haunting you? Amanda’s text still sits unread on your phone but you know she’s asked you how you’re doing. It hurts so much more this year and you’re not sure why.

For most of the day, you’re curled in your bed, staring at the ceiling. This was the day Alex died. There’s another notification on your phone and it’s Robert of all people. Your heart immediately starts to beat as you quickly grab the phone.

“Amanda just messaged me, you okay?”

You throw the phone back onto your bed, annoyed at the fake concern. As the emotions rise you look around your room for a bottle with liquor still inside, finally finding one you chug as much as you can… relishing in the burn it leaves in the back of your throat. Oh god, and now you’re crying, you’re crying so hard you almost forget to breathe.

What did you do wrong?

\---

You didn’t respond to him. He noticed and it kept him up all night, but every time he tried to send a follow up message he found himself at a loss for words. The list of reasons why you wouldn’t respond played through his head. Did you hate him now? Did he take too long to recover?

Should he physically go over and check on you, or would you slam the door in his face? The one person he hadn’t reconciled with was you… and he didn’t even know where to begin. He finds himself hopping in his truck to get away from the thoughts of you hating him and he just drives.

He doesn’t even realize he’s in the liquor store parking until his truck stops humming. Shit. There was this gut feeling he had… he needed a drink, he needed to forget about hurting you and alcohol was the only way he knew how. He took a deep breath, ghosting his keys.

Resolved and with shaky hands he reaches for his phone.

Robert: Tell me why I shouldn’t grab a bottle of vodka right now.

The response was so quick, Robert almost didn’t notice a response had been sent.

Micah: Because you love someone who needs you to be your best.

He didn’t drink that night.

\---

There’s a knock on your door, it’s so uncommon, that you almost think it’s fake. You answer and Mary is standing there.

“Pity party is over,” she invites herself in and you absentmindedly let her do so, “it’s been how many months now since he’s broken up with you? We need to move on.”

The words are harsh. But you need to hear them.

\---

The door chime rings as a new face enters the Coffeespoon, Micah smiles as he sees Robert surfing his phone, “Hey stranger, finally letting me see your neck of the woods, huh?”

Mat eyes the new face as he brings the duo their coffee… Robert had ordered what he once ordered for you and him. He’s no gossip but it just make him wonder.

“I’m coming up on one month.”

Micah smiles and Robert can’t help but admire how photogenic it is, “You should be really proud, Robert.”

He shakes his head… these days he’s been feeling better, lighter. He’s gained some weight but oddly enough he’s satisfied with it all. There are still moments when it’s hard, particularly now when his thoughts keep shifting to a certain someone, “It’s taken so long… too long and I don’t even feel ready. What should I tell him?”

“The truth,” Micah frowns slightly, but Robert doesn’t comment on it, he’s not the type to, “if this guy is as great as you say he is, he’s going to understand.”

“I’m going to think about it longer, work myself up,” his dark eyes stare into Micah’s and for some reason all he sees is sadness.

The other man forces himself to laugh a little as he sips his coffee, “He’s a lucky guy to have found someone like you, Robert,” he places the mug down, thinking to himself, “we should go out tonight and just celebrate, I know a great dance club…”


	3. A Moment of Normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the next installment. We'll be getting smutty in the next chapter.

A Moment of Normalcy

Craig smiles at you mockingly as he cracks a raw egg into his morning protein smoothie, “I swear it’s good for you, dude.”

“Looks like salmonella in a mason jar, Craig,” you shoot right back. You better believe your breakfast smoothie will be sans eggs and with a helluva a lot more strawberries.

He presses one of the seven blend buttons on his expensive looking blender; you honestly didn’t know there were so many ways to mush fruit. It’s only a little less loud than you expect and it still makes you tighten your jaw as it chews and spits the contents into drinkable form. A notification to track your calories pings on your phone and you notice it’s still only 9:00 AM, even after a full workout. What does one even do with a day that full?

Craig nudges past you to pour the results as you start getting your “better” ingredients together. He still balks at what you consider healthy but you’ve both agreed that avocados are sent from God. So there’s that truce at least.

“Are you excited for Joseph’s pool party?” Craig is practically yelling as you pulse the button the blender.

Shit. You forgot that was today.

Your smoothie is finally ready and you toast Craig before taking your first sip, “Totally forgot about it, but now I’m excited.”

“Yeah,” he smiles as if he hasn’t just made one of the most disgusting drinks known to man and you think to yourself that he must be putting on a show, “the girls are really excited. I just bought River these new floaties, they’re super cute.”

“Are you taking her to swim lessons already?”

He nods, “Yep, it’s more a safety thing than anything else. I want to know just in case that she’ll be alright if something happens.”

Fatherhood talk. It’s all about safety, safety, fun, and then more safety.

Eventually the two of you end up strolling through the neighborhood because Craig claims that you should be moving every two hours. You don’t necessarily think that is logical seeing as how comfortable it is to sit and do nothing but you follow along regardless because it’s fun catching up with Craig.

“Hah,” he laughs as he gets to his favorite part of the story, “don’t you remember getting up on the pong table and taking off your shirt?”

You can’t help but grin, “Yeah, I would have been a freshman statistic if I had fallen off and died.”

“It was legendary though,” Craig endearingly pats your shoulder, “The whole house was chanting your name as you held the funnel.”

“Wasn’t Sara holding the funnel for me…” you pause, “who was pouring the beer?”

Craig thinks for a moment and then his face lights in recognition, “It was Alex! Hah,” he’s trying not to laugh again, “he kept count of your beers so you’d know of your feat in the morning.”

You smile, it’s bittersweet, “Yeah I remember now,” you hope you’re not bringing down the mood, “He was an awful college boyfriend… encouraging me to drink like that.”

“He took care of you the whole night! I know that for a fact since I was so skeptical of him in the beginning when he wanted to tag along,” he brushes past you just slightly, “he turned out to be a really great guy.”

The two of you don’t say much for a moment which is uncharacteristic; you’re both the type to fill silence with words. But you let it permeate and it feels good for just a moment, “I miss, Alex, you know? I bet he would love it here…”

“We’d all get in too much trouble.”

At that you laugh, “I already get into too much trouble.”

Craig shakes his head and tsks at you as you round the Cul-de-sac again, “That Robert is quite the bad influence isn’t he,” he side-eyes you, “but just like Alex I think he’ll turn out to be a really great guy for you.”

The honesty in those words causes you to stop for a moment. It’s so touching and sincere, especially to come from Craig, “Wow, I don’t think you realize how much those words mean.”

He shrugs, “I kinda do, I hear things here and there… I want you to be happy, man.”

You’re in front of your house now and still slightly in shock from the content of your conversation with Craig. And all of a sudden you’re just filled with such happiness that you’ve reconnected to him, someone who really knows you amidst the whole neighborhood. It’s awkward at first, but honestly what isn’t with you? You lean in to hug him.

“Thank you, Craig,” you pull back, it’s just a friendly hug, “I’ll see you at this pool party. Just promise me one thing…”

You both stare each other directly in the eyes, seriously. He ventures forth, “What?”

“Please don’t wear a speedo.”

Each of you crack and burst out laughing, this is how things usually went with Craig and they were always fantastic. Shame he doesn’t drink anything more than low-calorie beer now or he might fit right in with your squad. As he walks back over to his house you think on everything he’s said about Alex and Robert.

It’s been about a week since you and Robert spoke last in his truck. For about three days you were glued to your phone, hoping that some part of the conversation you had shared together had stuck and he was ready to dive right in. But no such luck.

Mary had really gotten you back on your feet and you have to thank her for that. She’s the one who called the intervention, threw away the booze and made you shower. It didn’t get rid of all the pain but you certainly weren’t in a good space and now knowing you can go to her, it feels just a little bit better. And not as dire. Not just yet at least. 

She was actually the one who wanted you to reconnect with Craig. You weren’t eating right and you were starting to get really bad back pain with how long you were staying in bed. In the end, the woman was right, like she usually is.

You’re done furthering some of the cleaning up the house needed and in your kitchen now, an hour before Joseph’s party, searching for something you can quickly throw together and bring. Lettuce. Apples. Grapes… Cheap Waldorf Salad? You summon your inner chef and quickly begin preparing the ingredients.

Halfway through the salad you realize your hand is stinging, and as you investigate you come across a pretty significant gash in your palm. Shit! You just cut yourself, dumbass. Quickly you look around for a dishrag you’re willing to ruin and wrap the wound. There’s blood everywhere and you feel like an idiot for not even noticing. 

You’re looking through every shelf in the bathroom for a good bandage but you have nothing. Where did the all go? Shit. You gave it all to Amanda as a first year at college first-aid kit. What do you do now? Who has a good first aid kit you can borrow?

And then the dreaded name pops into your head: Robert.

Of course Robert has a good first aid kit, he’s wrapped you up after you’ve nicked yourself before. Do you set yourself up for failure or just bleed out? You know you’re being a bit dramatic but you’re not sure you’re ready to see him again. 

A drop of blood hits the floor and you realize you’re bleeding through the rag, suddenly, you’re a little more focused on that situation than what Robert might say. You unlock your phone with your good hand and click on Robert’s phone number. It starts dialing.

It rings three… then four times and you’re sure he’s not going to pick up. And then he does, “Hello?”

You’re surprised but quickly swallow it down, “Hey, Robert,” great, this is awkward, “I kind of cut myself in the kitchen and Amanda left with all my band-aids,” you’re giving a lot of background to this story, aren’t you, “you mind bringing your first aid kit over?”

“Be there in a second.”

Maybe being friends with all your neighbors is a good thing after all. You hear a knock on your door and immediately regret that statement. Robert doesn’t even wait for you to get the door, he knows you leave it open when you’re home.

“Let me see it.”

Direct, but you stretch out your hand to him without question. He tries not to raise his brows at the amount of blood that you’ve managed to get in your kitchen, “I’m just getting ready for Halloween.”

“Did you murder someone in here?” He practically mumbles it as he uncovers the wound.

“Nah, satanic blood ritual,” you shake your head as if it’s an obvious scene, “Figured you of all people would recognize that.”

He nods, “You’re right, love the pentagram you drew on the counter - adds a good touch, spirits like that type of attention to detail.”

Your breath catches as he dabs a liquid into the wound, it stings. You don’t know if he means to but he responds by squeezing your hand reassuringly. He moves on to wrapping the gauze around the gash and it’s as if he’s engaging in a great science. There are several steps to the whole investigation and he occasionally undoes bits of his work in order to do it right back up.

“Thanks for helping me, Robert.”

“You know I’d come at any time.”

Damn did you really want to believe that… but how often was that proven wrong? All those times he refused to call back, message back, even look in your direction - how was his statement now going to override the truth? It bothers you but a part of you really wants to relish in the promise right there in the moment.

“I was making a salad for Joseph’s,” you blurt this out and you’re not sure why. Maybe you’re trying to fill space between you and Robert, push him away.

He nods, “Yeah I was going to head on over,” his eyes dart away from yours and you notice him frown, “want to head over together?”

Now you’re sighing again, not sure what the healthiest option is for you, “Sure.”

The pair of you walk silently to the party, Robert holding your half assed salad. There’s a respectable distance between the two of you and yet you want nothing more than to reach out to his hand and grab on… like you used to when things were still going well. Already you can hear the bustle and hum of a happening party next door.

You’re donning a classic dad ensemble: half buttoned Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks. Mary is the first to notice you and she abandons her current conversation to wave you over. You happily accept her offer of wine and then you notice Robert standing there awkwardly next to you both.

“Want a drink?” Mary cocks her glass out to him, letting the liquid slosh around.

“I’m not drinking anymore,” he looks away, dejectedly, at the mass of the party. Why was everyone else so happy and the three of them so miserable? 

She doesn’t buy it, instead goading him by holding the drink under his nose, “I’ve never known a Robert to refuse a drink.”

“You’re drunk and it’s mid-afternoon, Mary,” he shakes his head, “I’ve been sober for little over a month now,” he could feel a twitch of anger pass through him as the drunk woman continued to tempt him, “Please stop.”

“Come on, Mary,” you shrug, casually urging her to stop.

All of you turn as Joseph makes his way towards his latest party-goers, “So glad you could join us!”

You smile, you’re not sure if it’s genuine or not, you never know why or how you interact with Joseph the way you do, “Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course,” he fixes his shirt free of the slightest wrinkle, “I’ve made so many hot dogs today and I really do hope you can aid in eating some of them tonight.”

“Are they made with pork?” This might be the tenth time you’ve had to remind Joseph that you keep pretty damn kosher. You know the guy loves ham, pork, bacon - the classic grill items - but you figure with enough prompting he’ll probably remember to start sending out invites with dietary needs in the rsvp.

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, “Oh, I am so sorry… and Damien just took the last vegetarian hot dog.”

That gets an actual smile out of you… you’ve always gotten some weird satisfaction from Christians apologizing to you - yes, you know it’s weird, “It’s fine, Joseph.”

“I have those Hebrew National hot dogs in my freezer still,” Robert chimes in and it forces you to look at him.

You shake your head, “It’s fine, I’m not that hungry.”

“No,” he’s stepping forward now as if he’s about to leave and fetch the meat in question, “I’ll just go get them, they’re from that time we went camping, remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” you really don’t want the hot dogs, let alone Robert trying to go out of his way to get them for you, “I seriously don’t need them now.

Robert shrugs, “Cool,” and then proceeds to leave the party in order to get them.

You follow, now very annoyed, “I don’t need them!”

“Mmhmm,” it’s so smug and it annoys you even more.

Now the two of you are causing a scene but you’re still following him as he leaves, he couldn’t look any calmer. You grab his arm, no longer in earshot of the party, and he stops, “I told you I don’t need them why are you still getting them and ignoring me?”

“I’m the one ignoring you now?” He turns and you can see in the arch of his brow he’s frustrated.

That almost gets your blood boiling, “Excuse me, what? You’re joking now right?” It’s finally mounting, you’re finally going to blow up on him and end this relationship for good… he’s never going to change, you’re still going to be the fool following him around like a puppy unless you stand up now, “You don’t get to leave me for months after breaking my heart, not show me a simple sign that you’re trying and then end up back in my life like everything’s okay.”

There’s a finger pointed at you and you can see the pained expression on Robert’s face, “I have been working so hard for you. I had to do all of this on my own and you know that.”

You can’t even stand to look at him, “You waltzed into my life, stole my heart and then promised me you’d come find me. All you did was grow more distant.”

“My daughter is speaking to me again,” that catches your attention but you don’t let it show, “This isn’t how I wanted to have this conversation with you,” his angry facade drops and shifts into one of despondence. 

You feel strangely as if you’re the one who has done something wrong, “Robert,” you take a deep breath, still frustrated but more open to listening than before, “You know how badly I wanted you to get help… that didn’t mean you had to cut me out like that.”

He nods, agreeing with you, “Can we just head back to my place and talk this out. I have something I want to give you and if that doesn’t work then you can write me off forever.”

Mary’s words about moving on replay in your head, but at the same time, as you stare into those beautiful brown eyes you feel like you owe it to everything the two of you had been through to at least give him one last chance. Your guard is still up as you follow him into his house.

And you’re already shocked.

It’s nearly spotless. There are no rejected liquor bottles staining the carpet, no half eaten boxes of food molding, even all traces of his dirty laundry are gone. You dare say you can’t even smell the house’s classic stench of stale cigarette. It makes you embarrassed for the bedroom back at your house. To describe in a way that cuts deep: it was as if as Robert cleaned himself up, you’ve been in a downward spiral.

“You’ve cleaned up the house,” he at least deserves to be paid that compliment.

Robert looks out over the room, “Yeah, my AA partner and Val came over with a couple hundred trash bags and we went to town. It’s kinda funny, Betsy has never been more uncomfortable.”

The dog in question lazily runs over to you when she finally crosses the threshold into the living room. You can’t help but smile as the little pup pants heavily into your hands, “She’s probably too scared to make a mess now because you’ll notice it right away.”

“I do the same thing though. With it all clean like this, I feel every little thing I leave out needs to be put away,” he watches you play with Betsy, holding in his smile, “Want something to drink?”

“Water?”

You sit on the couch and it feels different - maybe Robert cleaned under the cushions. Or maybe you just haven’t been in this house in a very long time. He comes back and places your water on the coffee table. You’re trying not to let it show but a part of you is disappointed that he sits so far from you. 

“Where do we begin?” You know he hates when the silence is broken but you figure you’ve earned the chance.

He struggles to speak, opening his mouth four times to speak without getting a single word in. It isn’t for another five minutes that he responds, “I love you.”

Your breathing hitches and you let the words sink in. But for some reason they make you so irrationally angry and you know you should stop before you say something stupid that you’ll regret. You’re amazed, thrilled, angry, confused… you’re a fucking whirlwind of emotions.

Robert takes your silence as your answer and you notice him looking away. But there was nowhere left for him to run. He tries again, “I thought you might be happy to hear those words.”

“Maybe once upon a time,” you spit it back too quickly and you know it’s not what you want to mean or even how you really feel. His mouth is agape in pained shock and your heart pangs for what you’ve just done. Why are you being so rude? Before more damage is done you try to recover, “I just… shit… that’s not what I mean.”

“Do you love me?”

You look at him, and you really look at him: the slight grey to his hair, the neatly trimmed beard, the dark circles under his eyes that are permanent regardless of the amount he sleeps. You look beyond him too. You look at the man who stays till the end of movie credits like a dork, who loves science fiction just as much as he loves old school rock, his fascination with knives and you can’t help it. You do, you do love him and you have fallen so hard for him.

The words bubble inside for a minute longer before you can’t take that sad look on his face and you resolve to fixing it, “I do… I do love you, Robert.”

His eyes widen in disbelief, “Oh, tha--”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump right in,” your hands wrestle each other as you think of what to say. Five months ago, hell, even four, you would have instantly leaned in for a kiss and consummated the entire relationship… but now, “A lot has happened. We have a lot of talking to do,” you swallow hard, “but I did mean what I said back then, Robert, I am here if you are for a serious relationship.”

There’s an unreadable expression on his face but inside he’s gleaming with joy knowing he’s just won a second chance, “We have a lot to talk about.”

And you do. You let him speak, he makes you laugh, cry, yell, and forgive. For your part you explain your own recent struggles: the alcohol, the self-loathing, self-pity. You’re similar people and you both acknowledge that. 

When he mentions the day you refused to text him back being the day he almost fell off the wagon, you open up about your own experience with that day. Your rock-bottom. During that confession he reached out for your hand and he hasn’t taken it back since. As you learn more of each other’s existence you end up feeling like an idiot for assuming so much of Micah’s role and he feels stupid for dropping off the face of the earth.

“Why are we both trainwrecks?”

“Probably because I was born due to a trainwreck,” he stares at you deadpan, “My parents were on a train to Chicago for a weekend getaway. At the time my mother was about eight and a half months pregnant with little old me. There was a big crash, dad had a concussion for weeks, one person died… but my mother, sweet woman, the crash sent her into labor and she had me later that day.”

He’s got you gleaming with a smile, “You’re such a shit,” you giggle as you gently lean further into him. You’re resting on each other now, your head resting quietly on his shoulder.

“Hey,” you don’t even move but you do look up to meet his eyes, “I wanted to give you this.”

He passes you a small red coin and you palm it carefully, looking at the words, “It’s a sobriety coin?”

“Yep,” you lean back into him further, feeling so insanely special for receiving this gift, “I wanted you to have a reminder of how far I’ve come, just as it reminds me of how far I have yet to go.”

It’s a profound statement, and you feel like you’re now holding back tears, “Robert…” nothing can hold you back, “There’s something I need to give you too.”

You lean in, after how fucking long you lean in, and you press your lips up against his. As you’re craning your neck he rests his hands on your hips, helping you into a more accessible position. It’s better than you could have ever imagined. You bite back a moan as he pushes into you, hard, asserting his dominance.

“Fuck,” in between his kisses he huffs his words, “I’ve wanted you so badly.”

You smile, eyes closed and feeling as if you're on top of the world… like everything was worth it, “Now you’ve got me, Robert, you’ve got me good.”


End file.
